


charred

by spookyqueeneli



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels and Demons, Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love, M/M, Oneshot, Sad, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyqueeneli/pseuds/spookyqueeneli
Summary: Crowley muses upon how he fell. Aziraphale is afraid for him, though listens regardless.





	charred

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. This is my first work ever, though I’ve been on AO3 for quite a while now. Please enjoy.

‘How did it feel?’ Azi whispered, seemingly out of nowhere, the glass of whiskey in his hand feeling increasingly cold as the question rolled from his lips.

‘How did what feel?’ Crowley countered, his tone softened by the glasses of red consumed earlier in the evening. His question was wavering, the demon almost certain he already knew the answer.

His (beautiful, sweet) angel hesitated before responding.  
‘When you...fell.’   
‘Hmm. I don’t...like to think about it all to often.’ Crowley ran his middle finger around the rim of his glass, blinking into the scarlet liquid as if he were recalling something.

‘I really didn’t mean to be bad, I just,’ the demon rubbed his eyes, still hidden by his sunglasses. ‘I just didn’t fit.’

Aziraphale bit his lip, taking a sip of his whiskey and leaning back on his chair. It seemed so...inappropriate to be so forward, but he guessed that 6000 years was enough to push back the contemporary perception on friendship.

They had even kissed. A soft, gentle gathering of emotions and feeling that has overflowed and pushed their lips together, and afterward Crowley had adopted a more careful, nurturing personality trait.

‘It burned. The flames ripping my wings from my spine,’ Crowley looked up, as though he were imagining the pain, ‘I thought it was death. I hoped it was death.’  
‘I’m sorry, my dear, y-you needn’t mention any more if it harms you.’ Aziraphale looked down at his slippered feet, guilt staking his chest.

Crowley removed his glasses, the orange, blazing irises behind glowing in recalled agony, a phantom tear bubbling against his cheek.

‘They were so beautiful,’ he murmured, as though he hadn’t heard Azi speak, ‘it was my body, they stole my body and I swore it was the last thing they’d take from me.’ 

His voice was thick with pain, his hands had left the glass and assumed a position flat against his thighs.

‘Please, love. I can see it’s hurting-‘  
‘Angel, please. I think I need to do this.’

Aziraphale fell silent as Crowley drew in a deep breath. The angel then stood, leaving his glass on the side table, and sat beside Crowley, placing his head against the demon’s thighs as an offering of support.

‘Alright. Please, continue.’ Azi regretted his original question. Crowley began to stroke the (loving, supportive) angel’s hair.

‘If I was going to be taken, it would be by my own hand. I still can’t even look at my own eyes without wanting to burn them from my skull,’ Crowley’s hand tightened around a tuft of Azi’s pearlescent, pale hair before releasing immediately. ‘I became the beast that God warned me of, and it was all my fault.’

A tear fell from both the divine and tainted beings’ eyes. Crowley has begun deep breaths, calming himself, Azi grabbing his warm, clammy hand to offer assurance.

Or perhaps to receive it.

‘It still hurts. G-Satan it burns, I can feel it between the layers of my skin like it’s charring me.’ Crowley took a sip of wine. Azi looked up, the demon’s hand still nestled in his hair.

‘You’re good to me,’ Aziraphale noted softly, ‘you have the human mindset, not of a demon or angel.’ 

‘It could be me, any day. I’m not a good angel, Crowley, but I just hope to be a good human.’ Aziraphale’s tone grew wistful.

‘You’re perfect,’ Crowley murmured, his breaths slowing. ‘My angel. You may be human, but at least you follow the New Testament.’

The angel chuckled at Crowley’s attempt at humour. 

‘Can I do anything? I mean, for the pain?’ Aziraphale enquired gently.

‘I’ve got you to keep my mind off it.’ 

Crowley’s hand continued to rub against Azi’s temple.

‘I love you, you know angel? Maybe angels aren’t supposed to feel like...that.’ Crowley spoke in a way that was unnatural to him, all slurs and affection.

‘Colour my wings black, my dear.’ Azi whispered, ‘For I love you also.’


End file.
